


Denim Roads

by MonsterTesk



Series: Apparel [11]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 19:50:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3394175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonsterTesk/pseuds/MonsterTesk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles hates long drives but he's maybe found something to enjoy about them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Denim Roads

**Author's Note:**

> I WROTE THIS HALF ASLEEP AT SIX IN THE MORNING. Again, written right into AO3 so it's probably rife with errors n crap.

His phone is plugged into the radio playing something quiet, half rocky, half folksy, that both him and Chris will agree on, the sky is dark, the road is mostly straight, and the moon is waning away from the plump fullness of yesterday.

This is the first time he and Chris have been alone in two weeks and they're spending it in silence. It's nice– it is. But Stiles is bored and stiff from being confined for so long. They still have another hour before they reach the cabin Chris reserved for the weekend and Stiles already finished his homework and caught up on his reading for school. He was texting Scott because the poor boy is absolutely freaking out about the wedding but once they passed over the Placer county line, Chris asked that Stiles stop and Stiles is cool with that. He really REALLY is except now he has nothing to do except slouch against the passenger door and watch Chris and the landscape.

 

It's not actually a bad way to spend his time, though. The moon is just bright enough to cast everything in sight into a silver screen image, Chris included. His hands especially. Every time he shifts them, changes his grip on the wheel, or moves to adjust anything, his forearms flex, fingers curling, knuckles little peaks of skin highlighted by the moonlight into silvers and blacks. It's quite a beautiful sight.

Stiles wants to suck on Chris' knuckles, trace the hard edges and soft dips across the back of Chris' hands, smooth his fingers over those forearms and lick that spot on Chris' wrist that makes his lips part. He wants to do it all now and fuck later in the cabin, frantic and grappling with shuddery breathes and Chris hissing Stiles' name while Stiles yanks his belt off.

He wouldn't be averse to car sex either though. If they could find a place to park, Stiles would go to town on Chris right here. It's been a while and Stiles misses the taste of Chris' skin in his mouth, the wanton little noises he makes when Stiles leaves love bruises on sensitive skin, and the feel of being so close to Chris that they breath the same air.

Stiles sighs and slouches towards Chris when he sees the sign.

"Yosemite: 50 miles."

This drive is going to be terrible.

"We've just got an hour left now; you can make it," Chris says and Stiles can hear the smile in his voice. He's amused at Stiles' dislike of road trips. Stiles glares at him.

His knee hurts and he wants to already be stretched out in bed with his honey. Is that too much to ask?

The song changes to something less folky, something a little more edgy. Stiles sneaks his hand across the cup holders and rests his palm on Chris' knee.

"We could have just stayed home and already have been in bed too."

Chris huffs, slowing down to take a bend in the road.

"There's cell reception at home."

Stiles has to concede that as a perfectly legitimate reason for driving several hours away so instead of answering, he traces his index finger over Chris' kneecap.

They say nothing more for long enough that Chris has gotten off the main highway and is now on a smaller, curvier one, as they pass into the foothills. Stiles draws shapes into Chris' thigh, merely out of a desire to touch him and release some pent up energy than anything else.

He squirms a little until he's nearly sideways in his seat, headrest against his ear, and concentrates on his fingers, the feel of Chris' jeans running under them. It's relaxing, soothing, keeps Stiles' mind off the fact that it's eleven at night and they've still got a while to go.

 

It's not until he's running his nail over the inseam of Chris' jeans that it happens.

Chris takes in a deep breath, adjusting the way he's sitting so that his knees are farther apart.

This jostles Stiles out of his sensation trance. He looks up at Chris, hand still moving, and feels a ping in his stomach at what he sees.

Chris is breathing big, even breathes, hands tight on the wheel at a precise nine and three, eyes glued to the road, but his bottom lip is shiny and a little redder than usual, and, in the moonlight, Stiles can barely make out a light flush on his cheeks that travels down to the collar on his shirt.

Chris is turned on.

Stiles does a double check, eyes flicking down to Chris' lap.

Chris is very turned on.

Stiles grins, letting his fingers travel farther up, nails scratching slowly at the denim of Chris' jeans. Chris goes so still at that that Stiles knows he's fighting not to twitch. His angel has always been a squirmer when he's turned on; fidgeting when kissing gets too heavy, wriggling when Stiles touches him just right, twitching his hips and shuddering while Stiles teases him with mouth and hands.

 

Stiles drags his nail across those jeans, inward towards the seat, then goes about doing lazy, swirling, loops as he travels back out to Chris' knee. A muscle in Chris' jaw twitches.

Stiles wonders if Chris would let Stiles jerk him off like this, rub him through his jeans then pull him out and finish him slow and dirty until Chris comes all over himself while trying to keep their wheels on the road. From the looks of it the answer is yes.

 

Stiles presses his hand flat to Chris' knee, slowly drags it up, fingers curled with the curve of Chris' thigh.

"Baby–"

Stiles moves quick, presses fingers against the bulge in Chris' pants. Chris breathes in quick something that's almost a gasp.

"Shhh." Stiles moves his hand again, tracing that seam of denim back out and away from where he wants to put his hand the most.

"Keep your eyes on the road."

Chris swallows.

Stiles grins.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Oh. And I'm still working in the sequel to Curiosity Killed the Cat. Don't worry. You'll get it.


End file.
